You’re so exhausted, last time you typed your password, you just wrote your own name.

You claim you’re “killing it,” but the last time you went to the gym, you counted the warm-up as a full workout.

You’re so tired, you once asked Siri if he could swap vacation days with you.

You still think you’re “in the game,” your body texts your brain an 8-hour Jet-lag.

You’re so wiped out, you once sent a blank email to 18 people with the subject line: “URGENT.”

You pretend you’re holding it together, but your smartwatch just reclassified you as “endangered species.”

You keep saying you’re fine, but you just signed off a WhatsApp to your mom with “sincerely.”

You’re so tired, your brain crashes more often than Windows 95.

You say you’ve got it under control, but you literally asked ChatGPT to write you an excuse note for skipping your own birthday.

You think it’s just a rough patch, but you actually Googled: “How many hours can a human sleep in a row before they die?”

You’re so tired, two weeks ago you narrowly escaped death and death still hasn’t recovered.

You keep insisting you’ll make it, but even your horoscope just says: “Good luck, buddy.”